The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

"Why waste your breath on someone like that? Just block him already."

Leonie snatched Connor's name from Gwyneth's contacts and tossed him straight into the blocked list before Gwyneth could even react.

"Don't talk to him again. If he really does try to make you pay, don't worry-my uncle has more money than he knows what to do with."

Actually, she should have said he had everything anyone could want—and money was the least of it.

Leonie handed the phone back to Gwyneth.

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Clearly, Hawthorne hadn't doted on Leonie for nothing. That speed-she'd just welded a steel wall around him.

Meanwhile, Connor was still waiting for a reply from Gwyneth. He fired off another message, only to be met with a glaring red exclamation mark.

[This contact requires verification before you can send messages. Please request to add them as a friend.]

Connor, frustrated, nearly hurled his phone across the room-but then he

remembered Gwyneth's messages were still on it. His hand froze mid-air; he just couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Mr. Kaufman, are you all right?"

Laird eyed him with concern; Connor didn't exactly look like a man ready to jump off a bridge.

"I'm fine. Let's get back inside and finish our drinks."

If the woman wanted nothing to do with him, he wasn't about to chase after her and embarrass himself.

But just then, Gwyneth sent him another friend request.

Connor had barely taken two steps before his phone buzzed again.

"Sorry, my niece accidentally deleted you just now."

Connor smirked. Women—always playing hard to get.

He felt a surge of satisfaction, but Gwyneth's next message wiped the smile right off his face, sending his mood on a wild rollercoaster.

"I'm not about to dodge my responsibility for the car. Let me know what you want, and I'll take care of it."

Gwyneth originally meant to say she'd just write him a check, but after a moment's thought, she deleted the message letter by letter and rewrote it:

"My husband says to name your price and he'll write you a check.”

The word “husband" hit Connor like a splinter under the skin-sharp and irritating.

Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to believe she was really married.

But now that Gwyneth had unblocked him, his spirits lifted, so he didn't bother replying.

Gwyneth, seeing he didn't respond, wasn't about to go looking for trouble either. In any case, she figured she'd deal with the

for good-no need to comet

compensation and then block Rim

things or make it look like she was shirking responsibility.

With Leonie glued to her TV drama, Gwyneth's mind drifted to Hawthorne.

"I just remembered I have some work to finish. Leonie, you keep watching-I'll be in the study."

Leonie was completely absorbed in the show, sniffling and dabbing at her tears with a tissue.

"Mm, go ahead."

Gwyneth cast her a glance, then headed upstairs.

The study was Hawthorne's domain, painted in cool shades of gray. After

Gwyneth moved in, Hawthorne had set up a workspace for her just beside his

own.

Her desk held a tablet and computer

Her desk held a tabl

for digital art beside it stood a

sturdy easel surrounded by a full set

of paints and brushes. She pulled

the cover off her canvas. On the wide sheet, she'd captured the corner of an old

monastery-beneath the shadows of

a black umbrella, a man's figure

loomed, half his face obscured, snow dusting his shoulders.

The way he glanced back over his shoulder he looked like a brooding officer from a bygone era: all imposing presence, yet softened by an innate elegance and refinement that undercut his authority

Gwyneth stared at the portrait, realizing with a jolt just how deeply Hawthorne's

image had etched itself into her soul.